Once the rest of the captives went off to meet their coaches, Lyra sat where she was, looking around and feeling awkward. Since Stasya had been taken away, she had no one to help her find her coach. She bit her lip, folding her hands in her lap. She was one of the few people present who was using a wheelchair. Her coach would surely know of her affliction. Perhaps...

"Lyra?"

The man strode over to her once she met his gaze. He was young, and had short, dark hair. He was also fairly attractive. Lyra felt herself blushing as he stopped in front of her, adjusting his glasses before holding out a hand for her to shake. "My name's Nathan," he said, "I'll be your coach."

"Nice to meet you," Lyra said perfunctorily. Nathan moved behind her and began pushing her wheelchair. They traveled in silence, with Lyra staring at her hands, which were folded in her lap. Once they had arrived in the room she'd awoken in, Nathan gently picked her up and set her on the bed. 

"I know you mean well," she began, recalling the words she'd come up with on the way here. "But I really think I don't belong here. I'm sick... I don't have any powers." Of course, she didn't believe there were superpowers at all. But it would be far too rude - too needlessly hostile - to call them out on the lie. Better to play along. 

"Actually, it's the other way around," said Nathan, taking a chair beside her. "You're not sick - the weakness you've been dealing with your whole life is a manifestation of your power. Our technology doesn't make mistakes. Your strength returns in the dark, right? That's because you have an affinity for darkness. Light, on the other hand, is a sort of weakness of yours."

Lyra bit her lip. "But you're negating our powers somehow, right?" she asked. "So shouldn't I be able to walk around like normal?"

"Some of us thought you would be," said Nathan, frowning. "Others... well, I guess they were right. Whatever your power did to your body, it left some sort of lasting damage."

"So I am sick," said Lyra, struggling to keep her irritation invisible. "I don't see the point in studying this 'power'. It doesn't do me any good; it's just a burden."

"Our devices say otherwise. You should be able to do quite a bit more than you have so far with your ability. Your whole life, the darkness has manipulated you. It should be possible for you to turn the tables."

"Prove it," said Lyra bossily. Then, her cheeks blazed. A lady of her stature was not supposed to behave some boorishly to a man she barely knew!

But Nathan grinned. "All in good time. For now, we have tests to do. At the moment, all that will involve is taking a little of your blood. I trust you've grown accustomed to the process."

Lyra glared, but her out her left arm obediently. As much as she wanted to refuse, she knew that she couldn't stop her captors from doing what they wanted to her. So she would endure the process, as she had a hundred times before. 

After fiddling with his instruments, Nathan approached with a needle in hand. Lyra clenched her jaw and shut her eyes, as she always did. It took Nathan an oddly long time to slide the needle into her arm - just when she was about to open her eyes to see what was the matter, that familiar pinch stung her, and shrill sound of surprise escaped her lips. She didn't open her eyes again until the pain was mostly gone, and she felt a bandage being placed over the vein that had been broken. 

Restraints had been placed on her ankles, tethering her to the bed.

"How d-"

Nathan held up a hand, smiling a little. "We know you must be scared and worried. We can't have you hurting yourself falling out of bed in a misguided attempt to escape. You'll be safer this way." He pulled a sealed envelop out of his pocket. "You may have noticed that I was already aware of your habit of closing your eyes when you get a shot. I only have that knowledge because someone gave it to me. Someone whose opinion I think you'd value."

He placed the letter on her lap. it was addressed to her in a precise, minimalist handwriting she recognized as her father's.

"I'll be back for you later," said Nathan, making for the door and shutting it behind him. Lyra fumbled with the paper, tearing the envelop open in small motions. Once she extracted the letter, she scanned it over, heart sinking. Once she had digested its bitter contents, she tore it and half and threw it away with all the might she could muster - which propelled it only halfway across the bed. Sobbing dryly, Lyra threw herself backward and stared at the ceiling.

There was no mistaking the author of the letter - everything from its word choice to the structure of the sentences dripped with father's pretentiousness. Yet she didn't want to believe what she had read. There was no way her parents would buy into this superpower nonsense... no way they would leave their only daughter in the hands of an organization she'd never heard of. Yet father told her to do as she was told in his letter. He claimed she would come to thing of her time here as an investment. But she knew better. Father kept everything he valued close to him. If he had placed her here, then he had decided that the best use for his daughter was to be a lab rat. 

He was probably one of the organization's backers.

Tears rolled down Lyra's cheeks as she lay helpless on the bed. They had never really cared about her, had they? In their eyes, she was just defective, a liability. For the longest time, she thought their aloofness was born of shame at being unable to help her, but, clearly, she had been wrong. 

And, now, she was alone, a prisoner to be tinkered with by some researchers. Lyra clenched her weak fists, tried to focus all her anger into that one motion. Everyone was awful! Everyone was a TRAITOR! And there was nothing - nothing at all! - that she could do about it. If only she really did have superpowers, then perhaps things would be different! She would make them pay - she would kill them all!

Yet she did not. She was nothing but a weak little girl. So she wept, alone, quivering with fear at the question of what would happen next.